Seven Deadly Sins
by remuslives23
Summary: Seven fics written for the prompts: gluttony, greed, envy, wrath, lust, sloth, pride, from the POV of seven different Torchwood characters. Written for the tw lucky 7 challenge at LJ. Please check warnings/genre/characters at the top of each chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_This set of fics were written for the **tw_lucky_7** challenge at LJ. We had a different deadly sin each week and chose one of seven Torchwood characters' POV to write. This is the first - Prompt: Gluttony, Character: Ianto_

_**Notes/Warnings:** Spoilers: TW S1:E13, S2:E01. Angsty!Ianto. Written for **tw_lucky_seven** for the prompt Gluttony._

_**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations. Title from 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'_

* * *

What Fools These Mortals Be

Ianto's stomach clenched and bile burned at the back of his throat. He quickly reached over Jack's desk and switched off the CCTV feed from the cells, the image of Jack kissing Gwen (on the cheek, but, God, the _want_ was palpable) fading to black as the audio (and had she forgotten they'd installed it or did she just not care?) cut out.

It shouldn't surprise him – it really shouldn't. He'd seen the connection, the sparks between Jack and Gwen from the moment she walked into the Hub. He'd seen the way they bounced off each other, the way they pushed each other to do better, to _be_ better. Jack had never hidden his affection for her, his attraction; nor had Gwen been subtle about her feelings. But Jack had said...

Ianto closed his eyes. Intellectually, he knew that Jack hadn't really meant what he'd said earlier the way it sounded...

_I came back for you._

... but even with the hasty clarification...

_All of you._

... Ianto's heart – his weak, foolish heart – had found enough hope in those words to hold onto.

His heart had sustained considerable damage when Jack ran away with his Doctor, much to Ianto's great surprise. He hadn't even realised he was in love until Jack was gone and he was crawling into his bed and sobbing his heartbreak into a pillow that still smelled like Jack.

His mother was right. Time really did heal – in a fashion. Like a vase that had been smashed then repaired, he'd pieced the broken shards of his heart, of his pride, back together, but the cracks were still visible and the whole was forever weakened. All it would take was one solid hit...

Like seeing where Jack's hope and heart truly lay in all its black and white glory.

Forcing himself to breathe, Ianto placed the archival information Jack had requested very carefully on the desk, ensuring it was perpendicular to the edge. He couldn't resist dragging his fingers over the polished surface, his mind assaulted with memories of all the times he and Jack had been _drapedbentpinned_ right here, completely naked and pleading for release.

This was punishment – falling for someone who would never fall for him. He'd been happy with Jack before, and he should have known from past experience that he wasn't allowed to be content, that joy was always ripped from his grasp. But he'd allowed himself to get swept up in Jack's smile and touch and scent; he'd blossomed under his guiding hand. He'd gorged himself on the feast that was Jack Harkness' attention, and now he was paying the price for the sin of gluttony, for wanting - taking - too much.

He swallowed hard then inhaled deeply, trying to quell the sickening roiling of his stomach. He'd promised himself that this wouldn't happen, that when Jack came back, his heart would be hardened enough for it not to pinch or sting or ache.

Ianto Jones was a fool of the worst kind.

Because not only did he lie to himself, but he actually _believed_ his own deception.

*

Jack kept looking at him. He could feel the weight of that searching gaze on him throughout the silent car trip to the office block, in the elevator as they traveled to the top floor of the building. It wasn't until they entered the office that Jack spoke and Ianto felt a shot of irritation that the first words Jack could be bothered saying to him were flirty and meaningless. He hadn't expected the longing looks, the intimate touches, the loaded words that Jack had exchanged with Gwen, but this...

_Oh, yeah! Loving that officey feel! I always get excited in these places. To me, they're exotic. Office romances... photocopying your butt... Maybe not your butt, although as we're here..._

...was insulting and, damn it, hurtful.

Ianto hated that Jack still had the power to cause him pain.

Those thoughtless words further strengthened Ianto's determination to stick to his plan: to ensure Jack remained on track, to not allow any kind of banter, no segues that could lead to personal conversations and inspire embarrassing declarations that would require Ianto to retcon himself when he got back to the Hub.

And it worked – for about five seconds. Then Jack – bewildering, infuriating, overwhelming Jack – had completely shattered Ianto's fragile resolve with his startlingly vulnerable tone...

_How are you, Ianto?_

And with those words...

_While I was away, I was thinking... Maybe we could, when this is all done... Dinner? A movie?_

... and that smile when Ianto – _stupidstupidstupid_ – said yes...

_Yes. Yes._

... Ianto's bruised and broken heart began to repair itself once more, hope binding the increasingly brittle fragments.

He wanted to be stronger, to put up more of a fight, to no longer accept fucking and shagging and casual, but he knew that his heart – his careless, trusting heart – would take whatever tiny scraps Jack would offer.

Ianto sighed heavily and went back to rummaging through the desks, putting his hopes in Fate's cruel hands and praying that she decided he'd been punished enough and allow him some happiness this time.

He snorted his doubt, but his path was set now by his traitorous heart. He really was a glutton for punishment.

_fin._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes/Warnings:** Spoiler: Great liberties taken with timing for 'Everything Changes'. Written for Week 2 of **tw_lucky_7** with the prompt _Lust_. Not the sexfest I'd imagined writing for this prompt. Rating for references to sexual situations and language. Thanks to **dogsunderfoot** for putting up with my refusal to listen to her punctuation lessons.

**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.

* * *

Andy watched as the poncy bloke in the long RAF coat _(who the fuck wears an RAF coat anyway?)_ swept past him as if he was invisible, the skinny man and two women trailing in his wake. Andy sneers at their backs. Bloody Torchwood. They swoop down on any crime scene they fancy – the bloke with the shark-like grin and the ice-cold blue eyes flashes his credentials and expects everyone's knickers to drop – and then they fucking disappear; the police... _Andy_... getting stuck with cleaning up their shit.

He peers through the pelting rain at the group, letting the sharp sting of the raindrops numb his face. He can't hear what they're saying over the deafening downpour, and they are standing in a tight circle around the body so Andy can't get a visual on what they're up to. The Japanese woman crouches down, and Andy takes a long moment to enjoy the way her skirt clings to the curve of her backside. He's never dated a foreign bird, not unless you count that slapper from London who couldn't shut up about the six months she'd lived in France as a kid. He wonders how much of what he's seen in those cheap Asian porn films is true and spends another, even longer, moment imagining the woman's slim legs wrapped around his hips, the image bringing colour to his pale cheeks and a quirk to his lips.

The wanker with the coat steps back a little, hands on hips and his mouth moving as he watches the others work. His head turns toward the cordon where Andy and his tardy partner, Gwen, are standing - guarding the crime scene so Torchwood can just stomp all over any bloody evidence the rain doesn't wash away – and Andy nearly falls over his own feet when the bloke _winks_ at him.

He frowns and blinks. He couldn't have really seen that, could he? But when he looks again, the coated man has focused his attention on the body yet again. Andy turns to Gwen, ready to sound off about blokes that go around winking at other _(straight, for Christ's sake, despite the alarming stirring in his gut)_ blokes, but she's not there. He looks around at the lingering officers, the SOCO who are waiting with barely disguised impatience to get permission to continue their job, but Gwen is nowhere to be seen. She's vanished.

Andy rolls his eyes. Late to shift, disappearing when she's got a job to do... he doubts Gwen will last much longer if she keeps going the way she is. The trouble with Gwen, Andy thinks as he watches team Torchwood packing up their stuff, is that she isn't happy with what she's got. She gets this look in her eye sometimes, this hungry look that screams _'I want more!'_. A lascivious need for power, for knowledge of things mere police constables aren't privy to, and he wonders why she is settling for this life – the police, a mediocre boyfriend and a shabby flat, _Cardiff_ - when she was beautiful enough, vivacious enough, to go anywhere and do anything.

Andy sometimes wishes he shared her desire for more, wishes he could _be_ more, because then he and Gwen could...

He shakes his head. He's happy with his life, with nights down the pub with the boys and his semi-exclusive relationship with Molly from the chippie, and helping keep Cardiff safe from all the tossers who keep trying to tear it down and blow it up... Well, except on nights like this where arrogant wankers stride in with their coats flapping and stop him _doing_ his job.

Torchwood are on the move again, and they brush dismissively by Andy who wants to stick out his foot and trip them. Mr RAF Coat glances at him as he passes and, this time, there's no mistaking the deliberate wink or the sly leer. Andy hates that he feels that smile right down to his toes, feels it tingling at the base of his spine, but nevertheless, he finds himself watching that broad back and imagining the tight arse hidden under the coat as the man walks away.

As they drive off, the angry buzz from the other officers and the SOCO falls into complaints about arrogant Americans and _'bloody Torchwood think they own the place'_, and then Gwen suddenly appears, flustered and pale. She mumbles an excuse to Andy but he's not listening, because he sees that _look_ burning in her eyes, that fierce longing for more, and she's watching the fading lights of the Torchwood SUV with eyes so dark with lust and covetousness that it is almost obscene.

Andy looks away as the pain of knowing he'll never be good enough rips through him, and he feels a fresh wave of dislike for arrogant Americans himself. Gwen turns those overly bright eyes on him once the black SUV is out of sight, and the craving and hunger on her face makes Andy's stomach clench with a different kind of lust as the images of legs around his hips flood back; only this time, it's Gwen bucking under him.

She smiles that gap-toothed smile (Andy tries not-very-hard not to think of how those lips would look stretched around his cock) then throws the verbal equivalent of cold water over him when she asks, 'Where would I find Torchwood then?'

He knows then that Gwen has found her something more.

_fin._


	3. Chapter 3

_The third of the Seven Deadly Sins series. Toshiko's turn this time! **Characters/Pairings:** Tosh, Team; mentions of Jack/Ianto, Ianto/Lisa, Gwen/Rhys, Owen/Katie, Owen/OC's, Tosh/Owen (unrequited)_

_**Notes/Warnings:** Written for **tw_lucky_7** for the prompt envy._

_**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations._

* * *

Toshiko Sato typed her last command into the Hub's computer then sat back with a tired sigh. She pushed her fingers up under her glasses and rubbed her eyes. They'd all been on the go since five o'clock this morning and now – after Gwen's sliced thigh, Ianto's near free-fall off a cliff, and Jack's actual death by Weevil - it was nearing midnight and the loose ends were finally tied off.

She watched as Ianto shoved bandages and Gwen's torn jeans into a black rubbish bag, muttering something to Owen that had the other man scowling at him. Gwen shook her head at them and attempted to get up off the couch, only to have both Ianto and Owen push her back down onto the cushions. Toshiko's gaze rose to Jack who was leaning against the railings on the upper level, smiling softly at the now-bickering trio.

Toshiko smiled. There was so much she'd grown to admire, to love about the people she worked with, but, as she watched the easy camaraderie, the good-natured snarking, she couldn't help but think back to a time where she also envied them.

*

Owen

Owen was a sexual creature. Toshiko would have loved to be as comfortable with her body, with her sexuality as he was, to be able to share herself so freely with others, to seek out what she needed and satisfy the craving without any guilt or fear or regret. She'd watched him over the CCTV as he entered one of his usual clubs and tried to imagine herself there: on the dance floor, tense muscles loosening as her body swayed, hair swinging free as she twisted to the pounding beat of the music, raw sexuality drawing the attention of the crowd as she lost herself in the moment.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't be wild or sensual. She couldn't allow herself to just drown in the music, to forget about the thighs that she thought were slightly thicker than ideal, about how her backside looked in her skirt, about how she'd kill to have Gwen's breasts. She couldn't throw aside her inhibitions, and it frustrated the hell out of her.

So she pulled her hair back, slipped her glasses on and hid in the Hub, watching sadly over the CCTV as Owen headed out for the nearest club and the most willing warm body.

Gwen

She saw Rhys pacing up and down the Plass on the CCTV and called out to Gwen who looked up and beamed that endearing gap-toothed smile. Toshiko watched her as she grabbed her jacket and handbag, calling out a farewell before racing for the invisible lift. A minute later, Gwen carefully stepped out from behind the perception filter and was promptly tugged into an engulfing hug.

Toshiko smiled at the obvious joy in that simple embrace, how Gwen seemed to melt and unwind when wrapped in Rhys' arms. The toughened, relentless soldier that had held a gun on an alien this morning and threatened to shoot (and _meant_ it) was gone and, in her place, was Rhys' girlfriend whose single desire right now was to go home, have some wine and pasta, and listen to her boyfriend extol the horrors of working in haulage.

Toshiko thought of her own home - _house_ - and what awaited her that evening and, for a moment, hated Gwen for showing her that it could be done, there could be a line drawn between home and Hub. It made her empty house seem even colder knowing that she couldn't blame the job for her loneliness anymore.

Yes, she hated Gwen a little, but mostly, she just wanted what she had.

Ianto

The days Before Lisa, she'd barely noticed Ianto, rarely gave him a second thought or glance. The days immediately After Lisa, Toskiko tried desperately _not_ to look at him. She wasn't sure she could hide the hurt, the anger, she felt at his betrayal, and she was certain the she didn't want to see the anguish, the pain in his eyes because if she saw it, she would remember everything else he'd revealed that night. She would remember how he looked at the once-beautiful woman enclosed in the metal prison. She would remember the lengths he went to, the chances he took, the lives he was willing to put at risk... all to save the woman he loved.

Toshiko wondered if anyone would ever look at her like that, like the universe was created around her. She wasn't sure she was capable of that kind of head over heels love, so she doubted she'd ever attract it – particularly when she spent up to twenty hours a day below ground.

But it didn't stop her wanting it.

She started looking at Ianto again about the same time he started wearing brightly coloured shirts. He was careful to hide it when the team was around, but when he thought he was alone, Toshiko saw _that_ look in his eyes, that same soft expression that he had on his face when he looked at Lisa.

Only it wasn't Lisa he was looking at now.

She couldn't help but envy Ianto who, despite the repeated chipping away at his heart and soul, could still let himself fall completely, irrationally, irrecoverably in love.

Jack

She watched Jack flirting at a bar and admired his confidence.

She watched Jack grab Ianto in the Plass and kiss him hard on the lips and wished she had his courage.

She watched Jack eat in his office, more food landing on his collar and the desk than stayed in his mouth, and gesticulate wildly as he told Gwen a mad tale and longed for his casual carelessness.

She watched him calm the latest almost-victim of a Weevil attack while the others did damage control, getting the burly man to smile and blush and swallow the amnesia pill without question, and wanted just half of his charm.

Jack lived his life with no thought or care for convention or rules or labels. The idea of living so freely both fascinated and frightened Toshiko who both longed for and resisted such things.

She watched Jack laughing in the Autopsy Bay with Owen and wished she was more like him.

*

Toshiko bit her lip, watching Ianto as he phoned Rhys for Gwen, reassuring him in that rich, deep voice as he and Owen helped a protesting Gwen into her spare jeans. There was much to envy about her team mates, but for everything about them and their lives she envied, there were some troubles she wouldn't want for all the alien tech in the world.

*

Owen

She knew he didn't think anyone knew, but despite her tentativeness around men, Toshiko wasn't born yesterday. She knew that for a man to be that self-destructive and determined to shag his way through Cardiff rather than settle down, there had to be a broken heart in his past. So she went looking and found her.

Katie.

Now Toshiko knew why Owen filled his bed with a different warm body every night, knew why he scorned Gwen and Rhys for their comfortable domesticity, knew why he taunted Ianto about being Jack's part-time shag. And she knew, with a certainty that made her chest ache, that Owen would never, ever, return her feelings because Owen was a man who liked to win. He wouldn't put himself in a position where he could lose again.

It was Owen's heartbreak... and hers.

Gwen

Gwen wiped the smeared mascara from the corner of her eye and smiled wanly up at Ianto as he silently offered a coffee. 'Thanks, Ianto,' she murmured, voice hoarse with still-unshed tears.

She'd held herself together while Owen patched up Rhys' bullet torn shoulder, but finally, while Rhys was still unconscious, Gwen had let herself feel the fear of the close call. Her job – her failed balancing act – had almost cost her the man that kept her grounded to reality and, this time, there would have been no reversal of time to fix it all.

It was times like these Toshiko wondered how Gwen had done it. How she had kept all Torchwood's secrets from Rhys, how she'd explained the long hours and injuries and phone calls that interrupted their lives. And now, she had to do it again. She had to make her fiance forget all about his bravery, about the wonder that came with realising that aliens weren't just science fiction and that we weren't alone in the universe. She had to betray the man she loved yet again.

And she had to find a way to live with herself after.

Ianto

Ianto was so cool, so solemn and controlled, that it was hard to believe there was anything but frost beneath the surface. But one look at the (really badly erased) CCTV footage from the Hub late at night and Toshiko realised that it wasn't ice running through Ianto's veins; it was fire. There was so much hidden passion underneath that cool exterior and Toshiko saw from the way Ianto looked at Jack, kissed him, touched him, just how hot that fire burned for Jack.

Ianto loved so deeply – with his whole heart – and Jack... Jack loved, but he didn't _love_. He had put his heart in a cage and although it was there for all to see, no one could touch it. Ianto had come close – closer than Toshiko suspected anyone had in a long time - and Toshiko was so scared for him because he would die for Jack, for a love that Jack might never reciprocate, for a man who could leave him at the crook of a Time Lord's finger.

And she was scared of what would happen when Ianto's fire was extinguished.

Jack

Jack was the kind of good-looking that made strangers stop and stare. He was charming and funny and sexy in a way that made even straight men wonder what it would be like to be with him.

But it was all a veneer, a front like the Tourist Information Centre. One that was almost impossible to breach, but occasionally, the armor was stripped away and the ancient sorrow etched into Jack's face was bared for all to see.

When she first heard Jack's secret, Toshiko was awed by all the possibilities, all the things she would do if she lived forever. She envied Jack for the fearlessness, the opportunities, his immortality gave him.

But now, as she surreptitiously watched Jack as he looked down on his team from the gallantry, all of the pain he had endured throughout time and space reflecting in his eyes, she realised that every freedom, every advantage Jack had gained had come at a high price.

A friend.

A child.

A lover.

Jack's long life wasn't about living at all. It was about loss.

And it was forever.

Toshiko no longer envied Jack his long life, his experiences. Now, she prayed for him to find some peace.

*

'Go home,' Jack called, breaking Toshiko out of her reverie as he clattered down the stairs. Toshiko looked up at him and he smiled back at her. '_Everyone_. We can tidy up tomorrow.'

He shot Ianto _a look_ which had Ianto rolling his eyes, but they all obeyed, moving around each other in the way a family who are comfortable with each other does.

'You too, Toshiko,' Jack said softly, stroking a gentle hand over her hair. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. 'Don't know what I'd do without you.'

She smiled at him and he gave her a wink before he headed towards Ianto, whose eyes lit up when they fell upon him. Jack smiled a different smile when he reached him, some of his long-lived weariness lifting as Ianto brushed some imaginary lint off his shoulder. Gwen had taken the phone from Ianto and was grinning at something Rhys was saying. Owen tugged on his jacket at the workstation next to hers, smiling at Toshiko as he mumbled something about arranging that pub night they had been talking about. Toshiko sat and watched them all fondly before Owen tossed her jacket at her and inclined his head towards the doorway. She laughed and pulled it on, following Owen and Gwen out the cog door, waving to Jack and Ianto as they went.

They were her family, and she would fight for them all until her very last breath.

_fin_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Title:** Hell's Gates  
__**Pairings/Characters:** Gwen/Rhys, Gwen/Owen, Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Jack (unrequited), Gwen/Ianto (blink and you'll miss it)_  
_**Summary:** "Hell has three gates: lust, anger and greed" ~ Bahgavad Gita._  
_**Notes/Warnings:** Written for **tw_lucky_7** for the prompt Greed and the character, Gwen. I've aged Gwen a year or two which isn't particularly relevant to anything except that I like to be honest. Going with that, this fic features manipulative!Gwen and is based around the events just before and during Combat. It's very unsympathetic. I've not written Gwen's POV before. It's a bit scary._

_**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations._

* * *

Gwen Cooper had always liked the attention of men. She dressed for it, applied her make-up and styled her hair for maximum impact, and she played up to it, encouraging it with flirtation and subtle innuendo. Her looks and appetite for a challenge had been advantageous in the past: free entry to clubs where she rarely had to pay for a single drink, gifts (albeit usually cheap, but still...), fucking _fantastic_ sex and of course, the boost to her ego which was especially welcome when she turned thirty and began to worry about grey hair and sagging boobs and a drooping arse.

Once she and Rhys moved in together, though, she never let it go any further than a wink to get a free drink, was never tempted because she loved Rhys and wanted to marry him and maybe buy a house and fill it with kids and – God, help them - that bloody dog Rhys had been hinting about.

Until Torchwood came along and she found herself wanting again.

She was drawn in by the mystery, by the intrigue and adrenaline of working for a real life secret agency and, just like in her childhood television shows, there was a larger than life super hero to lead them. Jack was... incredible. He was like the sun – bright and hot – and the world revolved around him. Gwen was pulled into his orbit willingly and despite the danger, dared to look directly at him.

And she _wanted_ him.

There was something between them that the rest of the team didn't share: electricity that crackled every time they came together; but Jack's heat, his burning intensity, kept her at a distance. She loved him, loved to bask in the warmth of his attention and approval. She loved him with an intensity that actually frightened her. It was thrilling and exciting, but she knew if she should reach out to him, give in to the temptation to touch the untouchable, that Jack would burn her beyond recognition.

She still wanted him. And the temptation to touch grew stronger and harder to fight every day.

She _could_ have Owen, though, with his sharp words and doctor's hands – precise, delicate, and knowledgeable. There was fire here too, but it didn't blister her, it didn't threaten to turn her into dust. Instead, it made her burn with a lust, a desire, she hadn't fully satisfied in a long time and didn't realise she'd missed.

Jack was a dream, Rhys reality, but Owen.... Owen was an escape, a delicious distraction that kept her mind off the horrors she was discovering about her world and those worlds she hadn't realised existed. She and Owen were bad for each other, and it was wrong, so wrong. Unwelcome stabs of guilt sliced into her conscience every time she left one man's bed to slide into another's, all the while thinking of someone else entirely.

But it didn't stop her. She wanted it all. It was greedy, it was selfish, it was thoughtless and cruel, but now - in these three men - she had everything she needed.

Jack on his pedestal, Owen in her bed, and Rhys in her real life acting as her anchor.

Then it all came tumbling down.

Rhys was furious with her – had _dismissed_ her like she was less than nothing, and looked at her with a contempt and disgust that made her stomach twist in fear. She had honestly never considered that _Rhys_ might be the one to abandon the relationship. Gwen had often thought about running away with Jack and leaving Rhys behind, but suddenly, _she_ was the one chasing after him, begging him to forgive her, to give her another chance. Rhys might not be everything she dreamed of, but he represented safety and security, and she hadn't realised how much she needed it until it was all about to be taken from her.

Owen had become tired of her and their arrangement; he'd tossed her aside like a used tissue because he – God - he'd fallen in love – with a woman he'd known for just _days_. It was never going to be a love story between them by any means, Gwen knew that, but her ego stung with the realisation that it had been so easy for Owen to turn his back and walk away from her, to fall for someone else in such a short time when she'd been in his bed for months.

She wouldn't fight for him. He was a distraction. He was replaceable, but her mind – her life – was in turmoil. Everything she'd built was falling apart, and she needed someone she knew was steady and strong and who would make her feel special. Someone who would look at her like she'd hung the moon. She needed Jack.

When she found Jack, he was in the little kitchenette at the Hub, talking quietly with Ianto. Gwen decided her need was greater than Ianto's tonight and was about to call to them when she saw Ianto cup Jack's face in his hands before leaning in to kiss him. Not a chaste, innocent kiss of friendship by any means; this was something else entirely. She watched as the kiss deepened, Ianto's hands sliding into Jack's hair as Jack clutched at his jacket, and the palpable _needwant_ left Gwen with a yawning, cavernous hollow inside her, left her breathless with jealousy.

How had Ianto done it? How was he able to touch Jack when she couldn't? How had he avoided being consumed by Jack's flames? But as she continued to stare, she noticed that Jack's fire had been momentarily stoked. He was _allowing_ Ianto to get close, to touch; he was encouraging it by clinging to the other man, the man who had hid himself and betrayed them all, betrayed Jack. He was pulling Ianto out of his usual orbit and drawing him closer and closer, and Ianto was _glowing_, absorbing Jack's searing heat and thriving on the warmth instead of combusting.

Gwen turned on her heel and set her jaw. She'd had it all – lust and love, excitement and safety, fantasy and reality – but now, it was all hanging by a thread, and she refused to let it all fall. She walked quickly towards Jack's office and took a little white pill from his cache, pocketing it before hastily retreating.

She might have lost Owen, but he could be replaced easily enough. Rhys... Gwen smiled grimly and patted the pea-sized lump in her pocket. She could take care of that, make it...well, not _right_, but better. Rhys would be happier if he didn't remember the last day, and so would she. And as for Jack...

Gwen looked up at the two men, no longer kissing, but still standing in each other's space. She eyed Ianto thoughtfully. He was nice-looking enough, but he wasn't a serious contender for Jack's affections – too uptight, too serious and solemn. There had to be _some_ hidden depths though, if Jack had taken him into his bed and, for a moment, Gwen considered the merits of seducing Ianto Jones herself. It would kill two birds with one stone: he'd be a sweet replacement for Owen, and it would get him out of Jack's trajectory.

She smirked to herself as she contemplated the idea, and quietly departed to find Rhys. Whoever said you couldn't have it all didn't know Gwen Cooper.

_fin._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Title:** Divine Wrath_  
_**Author:** **remuslives23**_  
_**Rating:** PG_  
_**Pairing/Characters:** Rhys/Gwen; Jack_  
_**Word Count:** 970_  
_**Summary:** Rhys has been understanding, but even the most easy-going bloke has his limits._  
_**Notes/Warnings:** Written for **tw_lucky_7** and the prompt wrath. Thank you to the most wonderful **dogsunderfoot** for dealing with the tangle of tenses that occur when one is trying to write, read, and watch an episode at the same time. Title is from a quote by Valerius Maximus_

_**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russel T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations._

* * *

Rhys Williams has always considered himself an easy-going kind of bloke: even-tempered, tolerant, understanding. Yeah, he has the odd rant, but only at prats who deserve a good tongue-lashing like that lazy bloody git at the chippie who kept yapping to his mate about some bird he'd shagged over the weekend while Rhys' chips just sat there getting colder and soggier. But at home – with his Gwen – he's everything a firebrand like Gwen needs. Calm, logical, steady, grounding...

Until she joined this Special Ops mob.

It wasn't too bad in the beginning. He understood that things would change: that Gwen would have longer hours, would be called out in the middle of a meal or, as had happened more times than Rhys wanted to think about, in the middle of a shag. He got that she was going to be tired when she got home: too tired for much talking, or sharing of chores, or a slow, or even a quick, romp. He'd even prepared himself for the added danger of this new job; a fact that had been driven home to him far too soon with a phone call from some snarky Londoner telling him that Gwen had been shot. _Shot_!

But he's taken all the changes in his stride – yeah, there was the odd argument and complaint when yet another meal went cold, when he waited up half the night because she forgot to call. But he stays and supports her because he loves Gwen. And because she always comes home to him, he can ignore the resentment that chips away at him, the anger that occasionally makes his stomach churn.

Because he wants her to be happy, he can do that.

She looks happy now. For the first time tonight, Gwen's eyes are sparkling, her cheeks are flushed prettily and she seems all lit up. Any other time, Rhys would be thrilled to see her so energized and bright, but it hadn't been him to put that look on her face. It wasn't him; he was the one she'd spent the evening ignoring while she moped and pouted. It was that ridiculously good-looking boss of hers that had brought her to life, and Rhys felt a spark of something inside, something hot and heavy that made the cream sauce on his meal curdle in his stomach.

The other man - _Who dresses like that anyway? Is he a bender? God, I hope so._ - is talking to him and, as he touches Gwen's arm to lead her away – Gwen going willingly, eagerly - that spark flares into a burning rage that blinds him to everything but the fact that Gwen is turning her back and leaving him behind.

'Sit down, Gwen,' he snaps, glaring at her.

'He's my boss,' she says, even as she turns to follow the other man.

'Sit the _fuck_ down!'

Surprise, embarrassment, and anger flicker across her face and her voice is low as she says, 'Don't ever speak to me like that.'

The maelstrom of fury only intensifies inside him, making his fists clench and his skin prickle with alternating washes of hot and cold anger. Right now, right here, he sees a side of himself that disgusts him. He sees a side of Gwen that he _hates_, and it scares him how much he wants to _hurt_ her right now.

The man - _Jack_ - is impatient, encouraging Gwen to follow him and Rhys shouts at him that this is _his_ night, this is _his_ turn. Gwen's new job has taken so much from him and he's been the perfect boyfriend; he's been understanding and patient and rubbed her feet because she's been running all day, and held her hand when she lay pale as the sheets in a hospital bed, and _this_ was his reward. To have this one night a week that he'd been promised.

He reminds her of that promise, but she just picks up her bag and shoots him a look of contempt that slices right through him. Suddenly, he can see the future very clearly, can see his place in her future, and realises that it's always going to be Jack and the job before him, before them.

And he isn't sure he's willing to settle for the scraps she offers anymore.

'Don't you dare,' he warns as she begins to back away.

Gwen gives him a defiant look then turns on her heel to run after her boss. Rhys felt the last tiny threads of his control snap. This is _it_. She's made her choice very fucking clear and if she thinks he's going to be there with a smile and a fucking apology later, she's very much mistaken. Because he's finally had enough. This has turned him into someone he doesn't like. She's become someone he doesn't even recognise. Their life is twisted and torn, and he doesn't want to do this anymore.

He's almost dizzy with anger as he screams a warning, an ultimatum after her, 'If you go now, Gwen...'

But she didn't even hear him, running after Jack, running away from Rhys.

Rhys watches her go then turns away with an exhausted exhale. Rage cools and morphs into an overwhelming feeling of sadness and grief. He ignores the curious stares of the restaurant's other patrons, and throws some cash down on the table. He snatches up his coat and walks back to his car. He's going home. But this time, he won't be there when she gets back. This time, she's going to have to wait for him.

Most of him hopes that she will, but a tiny piece of him wants her to let him go.

_fin._


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** There's Something to the Old Sayings  
**Author:** **remuslives23**  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing/Character:** Owen; mentions of team and Martha Jones  
**Word Count:** 963  
**Summary:** 'As men, we are all equal in the presence of death' – Publilius Syrus  
**Notes/Warnings:** Spoilers: TW: S2E6 _'Reset'_. Written for **tw_lucky_7** for the prompt of _Pride_. Um, this is odd. Thanks to my wonderful Beta, **dogsunderfoot** who has the nicest way of saying, 'You're right. This is rubbish and you can do better.' I adore her.

**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.

* * *

_"Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall."_

'Pride goes before a fall'. That was the saying, wasn't it? I bet whoever said that had never done a single bloody thing to be proud of in their entire miserable lives. There's nothing wrong with making your achievements known. Mankind would have died out years ago if someone hadn't crowed about their cure for the plague, or their treatment for polio. The human race would have still been in the technological dark ages if everyone kept their mouths shut about creating the first computer chip, or inventing the telephone.

The way I saw it, pride was less of a deadly sin and more of a necessity for the advancement of human kind. How were we ever supposed to catch up with alien technology if everyone hid their lights under a bushel?

I was a doctor – a bloody good one, too – and what I did best was save lives. I had saved innumerable lives in my tenure with Torchwood, but this time was different.

Martha Jones. Gorgeous woman, pretty good doctor, and friend of Jack's. I saved her life by disintegrating an alien bug that was threatening to burst from her stomach. It wasn't easy; it had taken ages – and a few messy mistakes - to finally get the calibrations right for the Singularity Scalpel, so I felt damn good about what I'd done. You could forgive me for having a little pride in my achievements, for thinking I deserved to boast a little.

_God, I'm good!_

Jack just smiled and literally patted me on the back when I said, '_I told you so_'. It's always made me uncomfortable; how much that simple acknowledgment from him meant to me, how empty I felt when I didn't get it. I felt like a puppy waiting for a pat from its master, and I was both disgusted in myself, and overjoyed when it finally came.

Gwen and Ianto were the least impressed by my triumph – outwardly, at least. I think Ianto was jealous because his skills consisted of counting coffee beans and frothing milk, although, I concede, he was _very_ good at it...

And Gwen – ah, sweet gap-toothed Gwen – was almost as useless as the Tea Boy in the field. She was better than she used to be, although she was never going to live down letting that sex-alien loose. I remember she was more worried about the dead than the fact I'd probably saved a good many others from the same fate. She was going on and on about their funerals, their loved ones... God, as if any of that _mattered_. Once you're dead, you're dead. '_Concentrate on the living_', I always told her. And there were a lot more of them than there might have been, thanks to me.

Tosh. She didn't think I noticed the lovesick glances, the awkward flirting. She congratulated me on working out how to use the scalpel effectively, her hand lingering on my arm for a little too long. I let her do it. It probably wasn't the right thing to do - to encourage her - but she was happy with those little moments, and the hero worship made me feel good, so where was the harm, right?

Martha hugged me close, and she was warm and toned and smelled _incredible_. I thought about asking her out for a drink then, but quickly banished the idea. Jack would have killed me if I touched her; I remember seeing his eyes narrow in warning when he saw me holding onto her for a bit longer than was appropriate. But Martha was whispering in my ear, her gratitude taking the form of a breathy mantra as her arms tightened around me and I was loathe to pull away. I'd saved her life, and I wanted my reward.

I don't remember as much as you'd think I would, considering how monumental the next few minutes were. I _do_ recall seeing Jack glance over at Ianto with an odd look on his face, as he was prone to doing ever since he came back from his jaunt with The Doctor. It was like he was making sure Ianto was still whole. It was a dead weird relationship those two had, but Jack was happier than I'd ever seen him, and Tea Boy seemed more confident, although he could have done with being a bit less lippy. Gwen had a woman in a lab coat in her sights, outrage etched into all those fine lines around her eyes that she hated and that I used to take a perverse pleasure in teasing her about while I fucked her senseless.

That was when I heard a man's raised voice, and I caught Tosh's eye just before I turned around. I remember that. I remember seeing the flash of fear in the brown depths, then I was pushing Martha out of the way, shoving her behind me. I really didn't think Copley would pull the trigger. We were both men of medicine, charged with preserving life. I really thought he would listen to me – his peer, his equal.

I can't believe he pulled the trigger.

Dying is cold – they're right about that, those who come back and tell tales of what it's like. But there was no white light, no familiar faces to welcome me; just darkness and cold and silence and something... something I can't see, something that stays in my peripheral vision, but I know it's coming. It's getting closer, so close I can nearly feel its fetid breath on the back of my neck...

I was too proud, and I fell all the way to hell for my sins.

Perhaps there is something to the old sayings after all.

fin.


	7. Chapter 7

_This is the last of the Seven Deadly Sin fics. I hope you enjoyed them! I saved the porniest...er...best for last!_

**Title:** A Mutually Satisfactory Arrangement  
**Author:** **remuslives23**  
**Rating:** NC17  
**Word Count:** 1588  
**Pairing/Characters:** Jack/Ianto  
**Summary:** Ianto Jones is not the man everyone thinks he is.  
**Notes/Warnings:** Somnophilia. Written for Week Three at **tw_lucky_7** for the prompt _sloth_ (which I think I failed at meeting) and also **lover100** _muscles_. This wasn't the character I intended to write when I began this, but, typically, Jack made it all about him.

**Disclaimer:** This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.

* * *

Ianto Jones. His colleagues, if pressed for words to describe the enigmatic man, would no doubt use variations of 'neat', 'tidy', 'obsessive compulsive' (Owen), 'energetic', 'efficient', 'multi-tasker'...

You get the picture.

Ask Jack Harkness the same question, and he would have different words to describe Ianto.

Giant bloody fraud.

Everyone else at work thought that if they opened the dictionary at 'pedantic overachiever', you'd see a photo of Ianto wrestling a Weevil into submission with a tray of coffee cups in one hand and a laptop in the other. He had them all fooled. Jack, however, knew that, while the image remained intact at work, once Ianto walked over the threshold of his flat, he turned into the world's biggest slob.

He would leave the rubbish until it was towering over their heads, the dishes until there were no clean plates left. The sheets only got washed when they were soiled by certain pleasurable activities (which, granted, was quite a lot lately), and the floor would often crunch before it was begrudgingly swept.

If it didn't involve the Rift spitting something dangerous and alien from its depths (usually landing in Splott, much to Ianto's disgust), Jack was flat out getting Ianto out of bed once he was home. That wasn't really something Jack complained about until recently when they both started spending more time at Ianto's flat than they did the Hub. Now, there was twice as much laundry, twice as much washing up, twice the slime and mud tracked through to the bathroom. And Ianto, Jack was sure, was doing half as much as he used to. Which was to say, not a lot.

Ianto Jones was indolent, lazy, and listless once on his own turf.

Jack loaded the dishwasher he'd insisted on purchasing for Ianto (Jack refused to go dutch and got a blow job in the SUV whilst they sat in the parking lot of the electronics store as a thank you) and started it up. He'd already put the washing on and disposed of too many pizza boxes to count (well, he could have, but frankly, the sheer volume scared the crap out of him and he made a mental note to force some vegetables into Ianto).

He considered dusting the furniture, but decided to leave it, not wanting to spend their entire rare Sunday morning off tidying up. His eyes swept over the open plan living area. While it wasn't pristine, at least it was habitable now. His gaze caught on the dozing figure on the couch and he couldn't help but smile.

Ianto was half-dressed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants which, in Jack's opinion, was still far too much clothing. He was splayed out on his stomach over the soft cushions: one foot hanging over the end of the couch, the other leg dangling off the edge, and his arms were stretched out above his head, the position emphasising the long, lean length of his body. The Sunday paper was fanned across the floor, having fallen from his hand, and a throw pillow balanced precariously on the arm of the chair.

He looked like the ultimate advertisement for idleness (a really, really _hot_ advertisement), and Jack felt his cock stirring at the thought of that relaxed, languid body all soft and malleable under his. He licked his lips as a devil that sounded remarkably like John Hart (not that he'd _ever_ tell Ianto that) whispered in his ear to take what had been laid out so delectably for him. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried this – Ianto had been the instigator then and had expressed some enthusiasm for being the receiver next time - and there was every chance Ianto would wake up as soon as he got going, just like Jack had...

_It's worth a try._

Jack smiled in anticipation, hastily stripping his own boxer shorts and plain tee off and letting them fall to the floor. He just stood over Ianto for several seconds, one hand stroking his cock to full hardness while the other opened a drawer beneath the side table and fumbled for the tube of lube they'd taken to keeping there.

("Spit is _not_ an acceptable lubricant, Jack. Buy some extra lube to keep out here or couch sex is off the menu.")

Jack palmed the small tube and kneeled between Ianto's legs. He hooked two fingers under the elastic waistband of Ianto's pants and carefully maneuvered them down his legs, pausing once when Ianto stirred then tugging them completely off once he'd settled again. Unable to help himself, he skimmed a hand over the luscious curve of Ianto's fine, fine arse. He dipped his head, licking a stripe along the crease between his buttocks and groaning as the tangy taste of Ianto burst on his tongue.

He quickly slicked his fingers with the gel and coated his cock liberally. He swiped his thumbs along his shaft then used both hands to spread Ianto's fleshy cheeks, exposing the darker-hued pucker. His mouth went dry at the sight of the furled entrance – still slightly swollen from last night's vigorous fucking – and with his thumbs, he gently traced the rim of Ianto's pucker. Jack went slowly at first, waiting for the caress to wake Ianto, but, when he was stretching the tight muscles and Ianto was still as pliant as putty, his own excitement ran away with him.

Jack shuffled forwards until his knees were flush against Ianto's inner thighs. He braced himself with one hand alongside Ianto's shoulder while the other guided his cock into that tight heat.

'Oh, god,' he whispered, as Ianto's body yielded around him.

Jack pushed until he was buried balls deep in Ianto's arse, stopping for a long moment to catch the breath that had been snatched from his lungs. On a long exhale, he withdrew until only the head of his cock was surrounded by the tight channel, then slid slowly back in with a shuddering inhalation of breath. The next thrust was not as controlled, Jack unable to stop himself from moving _harderdeeperfaster_ as his arousal built quickly.

He was trembling hard, a little overwhelmed by how much this - being inside Ianto while he was unresponsive and passive beneath him – was exciting him. He stroked a callused hand along the hills and valleys of Ianto's spine, enjoying the suppleness of his slumbering muscles. His hand came to rest at Ianto's nape, his fingers curling around Ianto's neck to press firmly against his jugular.

_I could do _anything_ to him right now..._

It suddenly hit him hard how much trust there needed to be between two people for them to do this, and knowing Ianto had so much faith in him had a visceral effect on him. Desire coiled tight and low in his belly and Jack snapped his hips sharply, knowing he'd hit Ianto's prostate this time by the sudden stiffening of the tractable body beneath him.

'_Jaaaack_...' Ianto breathed, sleep-roughened voice muffled by the pillow under his head.

He canted his hips off the couch and the last threads of Jack's restraint snapped. He pounded blindly into Ianto now, all thoughts of 'steady' shot to hell as Ianto arched his back in response. Jack's orgasm snuck up on him, wrenched from his balls by the deliberate clenching of Ianto's walls around his cock. His throat burned as he screamed his release, shooting powerful pulses of come into Ianto's rippling arse and shaking with the force of his climax.

Jack collapsed over Ianto's back, breathing hot and heavy into the crook of Ianto's neck. He could feel the other man shaking under him and raised his head in concern.

'Ianto?' he panted, wondering if he'd pushed too far, too fast.

There was a snuffling sound and, when Ianto turned his head, Jack realised the other man was _laughing_. 'What...?'

'That was the best Sunday nap I've ever had,' choked out Ianto.

Jack growled into his ear and, as Ianto's laughter strengthened, his muscles clamping down around Jack's spent and sensitive cock.

Jack cried out softly.'Bastard,' he muttered then he dipped his head and nipped at Ianto's shoulder. 'There's got to be some upside to your complete and utter apathy today. I've had to do all your housework...'

'Captain Jack Harkness, my own personal hausfrau,' teased Ianto, wriggling his hips. 'You know, I think I can find enough energy to turn over...' Jack groaned as Ianto pushed him away then flipped over onto his back, 'and let you get me off now.'

He grabbed the base of his flushed erection and waggled it playfully, making Jack chuckle. 'You are so lazy, Ianto Jones,' he said, gripping Ianto's hips and dragging him closer. 'Letting me do all the work.'

'Ah,' gasped Ianto as Jack's mouth quickly engulfed his cock. 'We're back at work tomorrow... I'll... _fuck_, right there!... I'll be the model of... ah... efficiency again.'

Jack let him go with a pop and grinned up at him. 'I suppose you're entitled to some time off,' he conceded then he curled his tongue around the glistening head of Ianto's cock and sucked lightly. He pulled off again and said with a leer, 'And your slothfulness has proven mutually satisfactory today.'

Ianto coughed out a laugh then settled back against the cushions, shoving a hand in Jack's hair and encouraging him to get back to work.

_fin._


End file.
